The Assassin
by Lady Of Embers
Summary: Due to a strategic change of Sparrows and one encounter with a laptop late at night, Gunslinger found herself chasing those BLOODY katana-stealing assassins...Warning: The lemons await, so beware!
1. Katana stealing fetchers

"You've got a new contract, son."

Darius Zing was good at his job. Good at killing people in different ways. He'd never got tired of it yet.

He wanted Roran to be like that. To be good at his job, and to like it. And in some ways, Roran was. He was athletic, lithe, excellent at the art of murder. He could follow a target undetected for hours, could climb up buildings and leap across rooftops in order to get a fleeing opponent.

But Roran killed systematically, almost like he had no emotion, took no thrill in the hunt and the kill. And that worried Darius. To have to put his own son to death because he simply didn't have the zest for murder that Darius had…

But no matter. To the contract at hand. And a challenging one it was.

"We recently acquired a contract from Lord Lucien Fairfax himself. It's against the Hero of Bowerstone, 'Gunslinger'. Or so she names herself. It doesn't matter. He says he wants her to feel lots of pain and agony and blah blah blah, so try not to disappoint, okay, son?"

Roran gave a nod. Darius sighed.

"Roran, you have to start enjoying it when you kill," Darius told him. "You have to start looking for the fun points of killing a target, okay?"

"I do enjoy killing, father," Roran replied. "Bandits. Thieves. Petty criminals who'd steal from a whore to eat. But do you really want me to kill this Hero?"

"Look, son, this is a contract from Lord Lucien. He pays egregious sums of money. Do you _honestly_ think I would turn down the chance for more money to help pay the contracts? Honestly, Roran, where is your brain?" Darius snapped.

"Fine. I'll take it. But I won't enjoy killing a Hero. She's done nothing but good for Albion," Roran replied.

"This is no time to be getting a conscience, son!" The leader of the Highwayman's Guild roared. Roran merely bowed stiffly and walked out.

"Dark. Wolf. Lemur. Mirror. Get your arses up. I need help on this contract. We're taking out a Hero."

* * *

Ah, she needed that.

A good long soak in a Rookridge pool had Gunslinger feeling cool and collected and stress free. She reached out for her clothes, and slid them over her skin, then donned her katana and was about to holster her pistol when she heard five splashes in the pool behind her. She turned, and, rolling away from the pool, she came up, stretching across the ground to aim the pistol at the water.

She did not have long to wait. Five assassins burst from the surface, katanas in hand. They ran into dry ground, surrounding her. One of them stepped forward.

His mask, unlike the others', did not stretch over his head. Instead, it only covered part of his face-namely, around his eyes and half of his nose. His hair was auburn and his eyes were grey.

"I'm an assassin. I'm here to kill you," were his opening words.

"Fascinating," she drawled sarcastically.

"Sorry, sweetheart, but Lucien Fairfax just pulled out a contract on your life. We're only doing our job," he told her. To which she burst out laughing.

"Oh my gosh, you _moron_!" she choked. "That maniac's dead! I just killed him five minutes ago! Honestly! You're so _slow!_"

The man took a step back. "We were informed of Lucien's contract just hours ago," he told her. "We intend to fulfil it."

"Bring it on, ginger," she mocked. The man stepped back and the four assassins stepped forward.

"You're going to regret that when you're bleeding all over the floor, darling," he informed her softly. She just laughed, dodging a katana and sliding her Daichi through its owner's ribs. He collapsed to the floor with a choking breath and she whipped around, shoving the pistol against an assassin's temple and pulling the trigger. She yanked an assassin's head down, smacking his nose against her knee and breaking it, before she lopped his head clean off with her katana. She turned to the fourth and delivered a barrage of punches, before her katana slid through the roof of his mouth and through his brain.

"Regret what, sorry?" she asked, casually rearranging her hair as she turned to face the auburn assassin. His brow furrowed.

"You really are a Hero," he replied. She shrugged. So did he. Running over to the old coach house, he ran up the wall and backflipped over her, drawing his katana and charging as he landed. She ducked under the blade and came up the other side, her knee making contact with his crotch as she did so. He gave an agonised gasp, flailing his katana wildly across her ribs. He made contact, drawing blood. Gunslinger gasped as loudly as he, biting her lips to keep out the pained cry. She staggered backwards and he took the opportunity to plunge his katana through her ribs. She dropped the Daichi, staggering towards the pool. She fell to the ground, her breathing ragged.

Roran picked up the Daichi as he watched the woman die. Shame, really. She'd been good to Albion. But a dead man wanted her dead. And that was what was happening. He turned and sauntered away up the path. There was a little house around here that was long abandoned, which he lived in while in Rookridge.

* * *

Gunslinger took an age to die. She took thirty seconds, however, to pull the katana out of her ribs, stand up, heal her wounds and glare daggers at the man hurrying away with _her katana_. Oh, there was going to be retribution, all right.

Roran opened the door, walked into the room and closed the door behind him. He leaned the katana against the wall and unstrapped his assassin's armour, letting it fall to the floor behind him. Walking over to the window, he closed it and walked up the stairs to the bed. He climbed in, closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Assassins drove her insane. Their posh, snobby accents. Their weird fighting styles. And their love of collecting prizes from their marks. One of which had to be her katana. Gunslinger may not have had a natural love for blades, but Avo be damned, the Daichi was a beautiful weapon that she had taken great pains to acquire. And screw the world if she was letting some ginger kid with a red mask take it.

She made her way lightly up the path, circling the house curiously. The bedroom appeared to be the top left window. She activated a force push, landing outside the window and silently unlatching it. She slid inside, and made three deliberately loud steps towards the bed.

Within a moment the assassin was awake, a dagger pointed in her direction.

"You took my weapon, you _bastard_," she snarled at him.


	2. Slamming things causes trouble

"How are you alive? Why don't you die?" the man cried.

"I'm a Hero,_ sweetheart_, we don't die that easy. Now, where's my sword?"

"Why should I tell you? You're dead. Your sword is my spoils."

In a second Gunslinger had leapt onto the bed and pinned the assassin down.

"_Where's my sword, you Hobbe-bothering piece of crap?_"

"Why should I-AH!"

Gunslinger slammed the man against the bed. It was then that she noticed the fact that her sword-thief was, while still wearing his mask, not, in fact, wearing a…shirt.

Oh.

"WHY ARE YOU HALF NAKED IN BED?" she screeched. His eyebrows raised in surprise.

"I think that should be the least of your questions," he replied. "And I don't usually have company, that's why. Unless…you'd like to…relieve some stress?"

"I'm a virgin," she told him. "You have thirty seconds to tell me where my sword is or this place goes up in flames."

"It's downstairs, darling."

Roran's shock had turned into annoyance at the attack on his appearance, and now sudden realisation that this Hero was quite a catch. And as she leapt off of him to recapture her sword from downstairs, he was quite contentedly admiring her arse. Well, it was very nice.

She vanished down the stairs and he heard her cursing, then flames, and a light began glowing. She reappeared with the katana, rearranging her highwayman's hat. Turning to him, she glowered.

"That's only a lamp on, downstairs, so I haven't set the place on fire. Now you run home to your assassin's guild and tell them I'm dead. Then you can have your money and you prats can leave me alone," she informed him. Roran's brow quirked.

"What a curious Hero you are. I half-expected to be dead by now," he told her.

"If I killed people because they were doing their job, lots of stall vendors would be lying in a puddle of blood by now," came the simple reply.

"Alright, I'll bite. So tell me, 'Gunslinger', what will you do now you're dead?"

"Why don't you shove your questions up your deliberately upper-class-"

"Okay, I get it. You're just going to act like I never killed you and you never came in here and banged me senseless against the bed."

"You make it sounded like we were rutting."

"Would that be so bad?"

"Why don't you figure it out?" She jumped onto the windowsill, and then vanished.

Roran leant back into his bed, one eyebrow still raised. She hadn't killed him. He didn't know why, and he suspected she didn't either. Huh. Heroes were _weird_.

Gunslinger had not, however, left. If this little assassin flew home the next morning, she was following him.

* * *

Roran crept out of his house at two am in the morning, running silently down the path and over the bridge. He skirted noiselessly around a corner and past a group of sleeping bandits, sprinting across the open ground and under tree cover, until he reached the signpost that said Bowerstone. He kept going, stopping every so often to catch his breath, until he saw the city gates in view. He leapt off the bridge, swimming around the city and into the Bowerstone Market River. He climbed out onto the dockside, crouching beneath boxes to hide from the guards. This was not Bloodstone. One could not wander around in plain sight dressed like this. He crept up the steps, sighting the city gates and running hurriedly forward. He shot past the shocked sheriff, and out into open country.

And on his heels was Gunslinger. She had traced him from Rookridge, and followed his swimming to Bowerstone. She had watched him shooting past the sheriff, and had been about to pursue him when a woman shuffled over to her.

"Hero, I need your help," she whispered.

"Not now, miss," Gunslinger said impatiently.

"It's to do with that man," the woman insisted. Gunslinger turned slowly to face her.

"What do you know about him?"

"He's my son."

* * *

Roran had no idea that the Hero had followed him for so long. All he knew was that in three days he would be in Brightwood, and able to relax in the Forsaken Fortress. As he made his way through the countryside he kept wondering why she had left him alive. Time and time again all that happened was that his brain brought up a blank and he ended up nearly slamming into a tree.

Of course the idea of slamming into something reminded him of how forcefully she had bashed him into the bed. And that was unfortunate, because he had found that slightly erotic. But no matter. Hopefully, next time they met, he wouldn't have to kill her.

He got into Brightwood early in the morning, racing along the ground into the Forsaken Fortress. He sped up the stairs and found his father in the study.

"Ah! Roran! Good, good! I trust the job was completed?" Darius asked.

"Yes, but there was one problem."

"Which is?"

"Well, actually, two. Problem number one is that Lucien died five hours before I came to kill her. In fact, she was on her way home, having killed the man in the Spire. The second problem is that she came back to life."

Darius Zing was exceptionally quiet.

"So you fulfilled the contract, but not only did the mark come back to life, it turns out that our employer is dead?"

"Yes, father."

"Excuse me," Darius told his son, and walked out the door. Roran winced as he heard his father bellowing obscenely to the sky. Then Darius came back in. "I assume she'll be here for revenge soon?" he asked.

"I don't think she knows where we are," Roran replied.

"Well, there's a ray of hope," Darius grumbled. "Roran, tell the watch to be doubled. I have no wish to die at the end of a Hero's blade."

* * *

"My name is Aurelia Krieger. At one point in my life I shared a bed with Darius Zing, the head of the Highwayman's Guild. We were together for years. But I never seemed to be able to bear his child. I knew it pained him, because he wanted an heir. So I made some excuse to go back to Bowerstone and found a man I had loved previously. I outlined my plan to him and he agreed. We made love and I went back to Brightwood, then shared my bed with Darius. Nine months later I was pregnant, and that way it looked like it was Zing's child. When he was born, he had all this silky ginger hair, and he was such a beautiful child, it seemed impossible.

I hadn't counted on his eyes, however. Darius has green eyes. Mine are blue. And my lover has grey eyes. So hurriedly, before Darius could suspect I had borne him an heir with another man, I told him that my grandfather had grey eyes and it was hereditary. He seemed to accept that theory, and he never questioned my boy's heritage. But…Roran became an assassin. I had hoped to keep him away from that. But Darius kept him on in the Guild and thirteen years later he was a killer. It was then that I faked my death and left their life. I couldn't live, watching Roran grow up and kill people for money. It just…didn't seem like a world I could belong to anymore."

They were sitting at a table in the Cow and Corset, sipping juice. Gunslinger had listened while Aurelia poured out her tale. And what a tale. Perhaps short, but Aurelia was obviously a dedicated mother and had no wish to see…Roran…continue with his assassin's life.

"But Mrs Krieger, I still don't get it. What exactly do you want me to do?"

Aurelia looked up then, her blue eyes feverish. "Kill all the assassins at the Guild, except Roran. Leave him alive. I don't care how you do it. Knock him out. Tie him up. Without Darius' influence, that Guild will crumble and Roran will be forced to pursue…more legitimate means of income," she begged Gunslinger.

"With all due respect, that's going to be difficult," the Hero replied.

"I don't care!" Aurelia burst out, tears beginning to fall. "I want my little boy to be safer!"

"Okay, madam. But what's my reward?"

"I'll give you this," Aurelia said, showing Gunslinger a beautiful cloak, woven with the finest silk. "And I'll throw in a thousand gold if you manage to drag him back here."

"Alright," Gunslinger replied, and stood up. "Expect me back within the week, Mrs Krieger."


	3. Zing's self inflated banter

The amount of assassins facing her was…unexpected. Clearly, Roran had warned them about Gunslinger and given them the wrong idea that she was a homicidal maniac who took holidays off to go slaughter assassins in a cosy, rainy fort. Ah well, a fireball to the face was always the best cure for infestation.

And it seemed to be working. As her Will, katana and pistol cut swathes through the black-clad killers, she saw less and less of them guarding the fort and more coming to meet her. She finally reached the end and burst through the black mass, rolling on the floor and coming to meet…ahah. There you are.

"Roran, get out of this fight!" she spat, and saw the young assassin visibly recoil, as the realisation that she knew his name sunk in. "I'm warning you!"

"How do you know my name?" he yelled. Her katana sunk into the chest of an assassin who had snuck up behind her, and a bullet sunk into the skull of one behind Roran. He jumped onto her, earning a knee to the crotch for his troubles, and she dived out of the way, coming up and firing rapidly into two oncoming assassins. They went down with a cry.

"Your mother doesn't want you dead," Gunslinger told him, slamming the butt of her katana into the head of an assassin behind her.

"My mother _is_ dead!" he snarled. She tackled him to the floor, six bullets slamming into three assassins who had been running from the stairs.

"No, she's bloody well not," Gunslinger informed him, and knocked him out cold.

She got up, pulling him behind some crates, and looked around. That was all of them.

Now for Zing.

* * *

"How odd," Zing told her, surprised. "The quarry walks into the predator's lair. You have been a worthy adversary."

"Cut the crap, Zing, and let's get down to a decent fight," she replied, irked.

"You have killed many of our guild. But we are a large order. And so, unfortunately, Hero, you die."

"Yeah right!" she ran for Zing, and gasped as he slipped past her, a glowing trail in his wake. _Will…Darius Zing is a Hero?_

Too late to think! Gunslinger slid under his sword, drawing her pistol. Two assassins appeared next to Zing.

"I never said we were fighting fair," Zing told her.

"Oh yeah? Then let me bring a few friends of my own," she purred silkily, and raised her hand. Ethereal green light poured from her palm and four spirit assassins appeared. "Gentlemen, you're playing with the big girl now."

Two assassins charged and only one fell back. The other fell to the ground, a bullet in his neck, choking up blood. The ghosts appeared behind him and one of them ended his life, before they turned their attentions to Zing. Gunslinger fired four bullets and only one hit, right in his leg. He faltered and the ghosts closed in, hacking and cutting. They vanished suddenly in a puff of light, and Gunslinger swung her sword down, missing Zing by inches. She pulled her arm around, and _shhlick_.

The sword buried itself to the base in Zing's chest.

"Aurelia Krieger sends her respects," Gunslinger whispered into his ear.

"_NO!_" was all her ears heard next. As Zing's body dropped off her sword, she looked up to see a dazed Roran staring at her, eyes full of hatred. "You killed my father!"

"He wasn't your father," she stated simply, plucking Zing's katana from his dead hands and walking up the stairs.

"How could he not be? He was the only one my mother lay with!" Roran argued.

"Roran, the man had a sperm count like a dead cow," she pointed out. "He couldn't give her a baby whether he wanted to or not. So she turned to someone else."

The young assassin looked like someone had slapped him around the face.

"You're lying!" he spat.

"Why don't you ask her, drama king?" Gunslinger asked with ire. And that was when Roran found himself knocked unconscious for the second time in ten minutes.

* * *

"Mmah…" Roran murmured, coming to with a throbbing headache. "That crazy gun-slinging Hero…"

"I'm right here, darling."

Roran looked up to see Aurelia Krieger and Gunslinger watching him.

"Mum?" he gasped. Aurelia's face broke into a smile.

"Yes, sweetheart, it's me. Oh, I've missed you!" she whispered, getting up from her chair and hugging her son tightly.

"So…what the Hero said is…true?" he said slowly.

"Yes, darling. Darius Zing wasn't your father." Roran looked at Gunslinger.

"Hey, don't look at _me_, I'm not part of your genetics," she told him, annoyed.

"No, I'm just sorry. I didn't believe you, and now…well, I guess I'm glad you're right," Roran mumbled, blushing. Gunslinger slunk over to the bed, leaning over to look him straight in the eyes.

"I don't usually tell lies, so don't accuse me of spouting crap again, please," she informed him. He nodded slightly. She straightened up, and Roran watched Aurelia handing her a cloak and a bag of gold.

"Thankyou so much, my dear. This means more to me than I can ever convey," Aurelia told her warmly.

"No problem. Keep yourself safe," Gunslinger replied, and walked out the door. Aurelia turned back to her son.

"Oh, _cher_, I've missed you. Arran is going to be so pleased to have you back!" Roran straightened up.

"Arran?"

"Arran Krieger, darling. Your father. Your real father."

"Oh."


	4. Uninformed floating tents

**A few weeks later…**

Bounty hunter contracts were usually boring. But today Gunslinger had managed to snag herself a contract to kill trolls in Wraithmarsh. Heh-hey!

She wandered over to Brightwood Tower and up to the platform with the cullis gate on. She gazed at the blue sky, sighing. It was going to be a while until she saw _this_ again. She was about to step forward when she heard footsteps and swivelled around.

Roran. Right.

"You're here too?" Roran asked, confused.

"It's a contract," she sniped, "surely you're used to them?" He rolled his eyes.

"Let's behave like adults, shall we?" he suggested. "And we can start with trolls."

"Those guards probably didn't think I was strong enough," Gunslinger muttered, quite thoroughly pissed off. "Honestly, you defeat a madman, tear down his brutal Spire regime and return several thousand people back home, but that doesn't qualify one as strong enough to fight trolls, oh _no_."

"Are you talking to yourself?" Roran asked, almost amused.

"Yes I am! And I'm damn good company too!" Gunslinger replied.

"Right," he muttered, hiding his laugh. "Oh, Hero?"

"Yes, cold-blooded killer?"

"I can't just keep calling you Gunslinger or Hero. Gunslinger is too long. Hero is too…disrespectful. Don't you have another name?" He asked.

She was silent for a while. Then- "I used to be called Sparrow, once. But that was a long time ago. I haven't called myself that since I won the Crucible."

"Can I call you Sparrow?"

"If you're going to call me anything," came the cross reply, "call me Birdie."

"Birdie. Okay, I can deal with that," Roran told her. "Shall we?" he asked, proffering his arm to her. She took it, and they stepped through the cullis gate.

* * *

Okay, this was why she hated Wraithmarsh. Trolls she didn't care about. Blades to the various nerve points could kill them. Banshees, however, and their general demoralising behaviour and acts of cruelty towards hapless adventurers, she could not tolerate. Which was why she loved pulling the trigger on them and loading their non-existant heads full of bullets.

An assassin who killed them like he'd been doing it all his life and kept calling her Birdie did not help the situation. Then again, he did appear to be exceptionally good-looking.

_Agh! Don't think about the ginger like that!_ Birdie berated her brain for the eighth time that day. _He tried to kill you! Twice! At least he's not Reaver…_

Immortal, sex loving deviants with a penchant for betrayal, she could kick in the crotch. Handsome young assassins who were aiding her on a contract, she was not allowed to. Damned morality…

"_Your sister weeps when she sees what you have become,"_ a Banshee informed her. Okay, that was just stupid.

"Rose happens to be dead," Birdie replied, "she doesn't have working tear ducts." The Daichi slashed through the Shadow Children almost carelessly.

In the background she could hear the Banshee mercilessly banging on at Roran for being born out of wedlock and having bright red hair. She caught his indignant reply about at least somebody had actually loved him and _anyway_, red was the colour of love and passion, and oh, look, that Banshee had red robes, so surely the colour was beside the point?

There was an awkward silence while the creature turned to Birdie, thoroughly stumped for an insult. Then-

"_Lucien keeps the gun with which he shot your sister!"_

"Oh, this is just getting crappy," Birdie moaned, "Lucien's _dead_, you uninformed floating tent! Can't you go bugger off and find someone _else_ to wail at?"

"_That assassin will slit your throat!"_ the Banshee warned her.

"I'd like to see the prick try," was all it got in reply, before the Shadow Children were melted into black jelly and the Banshee found her face covered in bullets. It dissolved into the air, screeching something about changing her robes to black, and Birdie sighed.

"What was that about tents?" Roran asked casually, walking up to her.

"It's ignorant of reality. And it floats. Nuff said," Birdie replied, and walked away to the bridge that lead up to the way out of Wraithmarsh. Roran chuckled.

"You have a very short patience span," he noted.

"I don't like dealing with morons, Banshees especially," she informed him. He raised a brow, but kept quiet. Then-

"For a gunslinger, you really like your katana."

"The Daichi is not just any katana. The Daichi belonged the Zuna Daichi, a warrior monk from Samarkand who died in Albion and left her katana in the Archon's Knot. And for your information, it's one of the best katanas you'll ever find," she corrected him. "Besides, I have the Red Dragon, which I frequently use, and pretty much prefer. Why attack something and get covered in its blood when you can blast its brains out half a kilometre away?"

That seemed to sate Roran's curiosity for now, and they continued over the ground into the passage to Bloodstone.

A million and four things were whizzing through Roran's head, most of which complimented Birdie, her clothes, her voice, her body, her fighting style, her eyes, her lips…before long Roran was having irrational, erotic and downright dangerously lemony thoughts concerning Birdie. Life was giving him lemons. And oh Avo, was he desperate to eat them.

* * *

Birdie shivered as the cool air of Bloodstone hit her on her bare arms. She had spent fifteen hours in a warm tunnel, with the air close and musty and almost _humid_. Having Roran three centimetres behind her breathing warmly on her neck had not helped. As they stumbled into the sunshine, Birdie stretched, ligaments popping, and then turned to Roran.

"So I'll be off then," she began, "and I'll go get my reward."

"Is that it?" he asked lightly, almost smirking.

"What do you want, a medal?" she replied, confused.

"No. I do, however, want to pin you against the nearest rock and kiss you until you can't stand up," he informed her.

And the silence that followed he took for a yes. Which was why Birdie found herself pinned against the nearest rock and being kissed with the kind of driving force and passion that could move _storms_. Which was why she found him grinding into her without going in, and making a little 'ah!' sound as he finished.

Roran tasted masculine and musky and dangerously good.

"Until we meet again?" he whispered to her, pulling away and beginning to walk off.

"You…you _kissed_ me…" she murmured, and her fingers traced over her lips, tongue feeling across them for that flavour as he winked at her and walked off.

Oh Avo, sexual tension or _what_?


	5. If it tastes like lemons, FLEE!

The Leper's Arms was not the most elegant of pubs, nor was it the most well named. But it was always bustling and friendly and pulled in pretty much everyone. And that included bored Heroes with more money than sense at that current time.

Birdie sat on her chair, nursing a glass of something. Claret? Port? No, it was something yellow, to do with fairies. Neither of that made any sense to her. Hell, neither did life right now.

She had met an assassin who had tried to kill her twice, succeeded once, then helped her on a contract and kissed her senseless just afterwards. One who tasted nice too. Plus, he was ginger-auburn and always wore a mask. Oh, and he called her Birdie. And now she was calling _herself_ Birdie.

She sighed, annoyed with herself, life, and the general lemons which she had tossed away in a fit of rage after the Spire. Four marriage proposals. Four! She could have settled down, had kids, bought a little house in Oakfield and lived a fairytale lifestyle. But it hadn't appealed to her at all. She needed a proper man who would be flitting all over Albion by her side. Not, perhaps, the best parents in the world, but the greatest friends and certainly there would be more privacy for the intimacy. And assassins were good with shadows…

Wait, what? Assassins? Why had her mind dredged up Roran? Dredging up Roran would mean remembering the fact that he had actually been rubbing up against her and he'd…

Oh Avo. Her cheeks flared, nothing to do with the drink. Because the centre of her thoughts had just appeared through the door, wearing his mask and looking devilishly good. Birdie's imagination went flighty and she blushed, turning away hurriedly.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Birdie," a voice purred from behind her.

CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP.

Birdie turned around and met Roran's predatory gaze with a smirk that seemed more comfortable than _she_ was.

"It's not," she replied, then glared at her bottle. This was why she didn't drink. "And if it is, why would you be interested?" Roran slunk over to the bar and sat himself next to Birdie.

"Because. I'm just checking my little Birdie hasn't flown the coop, and gone back to legal land," he replied coolly.

"Legal land?"

"Bowerstone."

"Oh."

"You may well say 'oh', Birdie darling," Roran told her offhandedly. "I know a lot of assassins who ended up nearly rotting in jail for walking through that place wearing their assassin's clothes." She shrugged, making a 'Pffft' noise.

"So? They shouldn't be so bloody stupid," she muttered.

Roran grinned. "Birdie, how drunk are you?" he asked smoothly.

"Very," she announced, looking at him from out the corner of her eye.

"Good," he purred, getting off the bar stool and standing close up against her, lips brushing over her neck and his tongue darting out over her jugular.

_Ohcrapohcrapohcrap_, Birdie's mind whimpered, as her body started moaning at her. _You haven't had any action since you can remember_, it was pointing out to her.

She turned her head to meet his lips and his familiar, masculine flavour filled her mouth as his tongue probed her lips. His fingers claimed her hips and her back, and Birdie gave a soft moan.

"Oi, mate, you wanna share?" leered a drunk pirate from Roran's right. "Cause she looks like a right fireball."

Roran growled. "Don't you have something better to do with your time?" he asked smoothly, barely turning to face the pirate.

"Nah, not really," the drunk man replied.

"Well then let me give you something to do," Roran suggested and, reaching out, he thrust a barmaid into the pirate's arms, and turned back to Birdie, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Shall we take this upstairs?" he whispered. Numb with shock and lust, Birdie simply nodded, and let Roran drag her up the stairs and into the first room there. The door swung closed and instantly his athletic fingers were working away at her belt, forcing her trousers down and pressing her against the wall, a hand moving down over her smooth stomach to-

_Ohhhhhhh_, her brain purred contentedly, _just_ there. Roran's fingers worked like magic, sliding across her skin into her passage, exploring her as he went. She let out a gasp and her fingers dug into the wall behind her.

"Having fun, are we?" he whispered seductively, causing Birdie to shudder.

"Avo, you're good with your hands!" she gasped at him, and her fingers were suddenly lacing behind his neck and pulling his head towards hers, claiming his lips in a kiss. One of his fingers trailed suggestively over the cut of her bodice, pointedly unlacing the back of the top and pulling the two halves apart. She felt the rough skin of his fingers dancing across her collarbone, before sliding further down and skimming over her chest. The next thing she knew her bodice was on the floor and the weathered pads of his fingers were running all over her skin.

"Sweetheart, you're not a virgin," he told her, almost a little…crossly. "You lied to me."

"I wish I was," she replied. "I didn't mean, or want, to lose it, but Spire Guards have a habit of serially raping anything female." The shock registered on Roran's face only moments before their kissing suddenly became frenzied and animalistic. His thumb was working on her pleasure point and he had two fingers in her passage and suddenly- "Mmah…oh Avo," she gasped, as her world came to a sudden, diving halt with her release.

"Can I take you to bed?" he murmured in her ear, her breath hitching. "You're not a virgin physically, but you are mentally. Can I teach you something?"

"_Yes_," she breathed, almost inaudibly.

He removed her hat and shoes, then dropped all his clothes, barring his mask, onto the wooden floor. Then he swept her up into his arms and carried her over to the bed.

* * *

The first thing Birdie noticed was a pair of warm arms wrapped around her and holding her tightly against something else that was equally as warm. Then her memories returned.

Her first thought was: _I slept with an assassin last night_. Her second thought was: _Oh, he's GOOD with his hands_. She turned over and found herself gazing into a pair of grey eyes.

"_Gooooooooood_ morning," he purred, nuzzling into her hair.

"You're…"

"Still here? Yeah, I don't tend to do the walk of shame. And apparently neither do you."

Her face went warm as everything in her head started jumping around for attention and she remembered just how _amazing_ he was in bed.

"How did you learn half of that stuff from last night anyway?" she asked, nonchalant.

"When you're an assassin sent to kill targets, you usually get a few female ones who'll offer you favours for their life. Usually I take them, and kill them anyway. Ow, what was that for?"

"That's _cruel_," she told him.

"So is the threat of being murdered if I left the Guild."

"Touché."

Birdie sat up, or tried to, and Roran dragged her back down again.

"Noo," he muttered, "don't leave me." The last sentence was punctuated by a nip to the neck. And that meant she was now feeling _quite_ awake and _quite _ready for another bout.


	6. Interlude

When Birdie awoke later, she got out of the bed and climbed into some different clothes.

"Morning."

She spun around to see Roran's grey eyes boring into her, his head supported by one elbow. There were the faint beginnings of a smirk dancing across his lips. She suddenly laughed, and his eyebrow rose questioningly.

"You're still wearing your mask," she told him, and he laughed. "Roran, we shagged _twice_, and you're still wearing your mask. Don't you trust me with your identity?"

The young assassin shrugged, sliding out of the bed and picking his clothes up off the floor.

"You're still wearing yours," he pointed out. Her hand clapped to her face.

Yes, she still was. She turned away, rolling her eyes, and touched a drop of dye to her clothes. They turned black. She added another drop, and some of it turned lilac. She turned around again.

"You look nice," Roran complimented. Birdie blushed.

"T-thanks," she stuttered.

"You look really good in those clothes, but you'd look better without them. Although I suppose you've probably had enough."

"Um, yeah…"

"What was it you kept screaming last night?"

"Oh, oh, oh…you could understand that?"

"It was something like… 'Oh Avo, Roran…'" he commented. "Now, I should really be offended, because it wasn't Avo who was sharing the bed with you."

"I'm sorry?" Birdie asked, confused. Roran leaned against the wall, looking thoughtful.

"Now, if you took out the 'Avo' bit of it and just said 'oh Roran', I'd be less offended."

Birdie was staring at him. "You want me to control what I say while you're turning my brain into a puddle of mush simply by looking at me?"

Roran fixed her with his full, now apparently very lecherous, gaze, and Birdie muttered 'see?' before her knees collapsed. He laughed.

"Now, I gotta leave, because we have a bounty to collect. Seeya," Roran said, and jumped out the window. Birdie ran over to the sill and watched him. He blew her a kiss, winked at her and ran off to the docks.

"DAGNABBIT!" Birdie yelled, as her legs collapsed beneath her again. She struggled to get herself up. Collecting herself, she vaulted out of the window, landing on the ground, and raced towards the docks. However, Roran had caught the ship just as it left.

Birdie stormed over to the nearest bench and proceeded to plonk herself down in a huff.

* * *

**A few days later…**

Bowerstone Old Town and its memories had never quite left Birdie. There was the sensation of being utterly lost the day they'd arrived. There was the hatred she'd harboured for Arfur as she watched him trying to get her sister to become a whore. There was the sorrow and anguish of five gold coins being lost to something that hadn't worked at the time…

And now there was the memory of returning to a rebuilt Old Town filled with grass and the shrieks of playing children, of fresh soil and the smell of home baking. The sound of the insects, and lying in the grass where their shack had been, just marvelling at the sight of the sky.

Of returning to find a statue of her own self erected in the Old Town in her honour. In the honour of her selfless love for the people of Albion (though not for their marriage proposals.) Of the beautiful rainbow that danced above her statue, only hours before she went to fulfil Aurelia Marks' expectancies.

Birdie was lying in the grass right now, staring up at the sky. She was half-asleep, and did not notice the assassin until it was too late.

Roran pinned her down by her wrists and proceeded to trail a line of kisses over her neck. He pulled away, and she viewed him with an annoyed air.

"You jumped out of my window and fled," she accused. He laughed.

"It was play-time, baby doll," he whispered. She shivered. He rolled off of her and lay next to her in the grass.

"Why did you call yourself Gunslinger?"

"I would have thought it would have been obvious."

"But what's with the love of guns?"

Birdie was silent.

"Lucien shot my sister," she finally said. "The day that I woke up from my coma, after he shot me, Theresa showed me the gun he'd used. It was a Master Flintlock Pistol. From that day on I was determined to kill Lucien the way he'd killed Rose. When I left Bower Lake, and found the Town Crier, that was the name I chose. And I did kill him the way he killed my sister, with a Master Flintlock Pistol."

Roran grinned.

"I don't want to get on your bad side ever again," he told her. She grinned, sitting up.

"As long as you're staying that good in bed, I don't think we're _ever_ having a relationship crisis," she murmured, kissing him on the neck. He smirked.

* * *

Roran was practising his free-running, jumping over rooftops, when he spotted Birdie walking into a beautiful little house in Bowerstone Market. He slid down from the rooftops and followed her. She turned as she heard him.

"What is this?" he asked, surprised.

"It's my house," she replied with a smile.

"You own a house?"

"You're making me sound homeless…"

"That's not what I meant. I didn't consider you to be one who would settle into a house. You seem like the travelling type."

Birdie shrugged. "I've been working on this house since I became a Hero. I never had much money because I kept giving it to beggars, but I've been slowly working on it."

He stepped in and looked around. It was a nice house, and although it was simple, Birdie had furnished it to give it a sort of unique charm. She had several portraits, and a tiny picture hanging in the corner. He looked closer.

Two girls stood posing, a painting of Bowerstone Old Town behind them. One was a tall girl with pigtails and a kissing expression. The other was younger, with a huge grin on her face, smooth, creamy brown skin, brown eyes and dark brown hair. She had her thumb up to the camera, and she looked…alive. Only when he scanned her face again did he recognise her.

"My sister, Rose. The little one is me. I was seven."

"You look so young."

"So I should do. That was twenty years ago."

"No!"

"Oh yes. I loved my sister more than anyone. I had a life with her, even if we were beggars. Lucien took that away from me with two bullets. He then stole ten years of my life and was responsible for the forced loss of the only gift I could have given to a man I cared for. That was why he had to die. Not because of his crimes against Albion. Not because he was forcing people to act out his dream. Because he killed two little girls one snowy night and tore away their future."

Roran was silent. Then he simply swept her into his arms and took her upstairs.


	7. What went wrong?

Birdie was roaming around at midnight with Roran. For some reason, she felt like she had to apprehend some criminals.

Roran, on the other hand, was rather confused.

"Birdie, what are we doing?"

"We're apprehending some criminals."

"Yeah but…why?"

"I would love to know too."

"Clearly, I'm the only sane on here."

"I wouldn't count on it."

"Let's split up."

"Uh, okay…"

Birdie went left at a street and Roran went right.

Birdie walked along the street, past a dark alleyway. She sensed a figure slipping out of the shadows and following her.

"Ello, luv," purred a voice. Birdie jumped a mile. She knew that voice.

"_Arfur_," she snarled. He laughed.

"If it ain't _Little Sparrer_," he sneered, sliming up behind her.

"Arfur Tuesday," she hissed, "lay a finger on me and this sword goes down your throat."

"Aw, that ain't the way a gal talks to her old friend," Arfur purred. "I 'eard about Rose. Don't suppose _you'd_ consider me offer?"

"Don't push your luck, Tuesday," Birdie hissed. He laughed.

"I'll push whatever I want, bird, make no mistake. An' maybe I can push you against the wall and show you how us big wheels bang, eh?" he leered. He lowered his hand onto her shoulder.

Birdie swung around in an arc, her sword lopping off his head.

Roran heard a short, strangled sound, and turned, running towards the sound. He found Birdie cleaning off her sword, sitting by the corpse of a headless man.

"What are you doing?" he hissed.

"Roran…"

"Why'd you _kill_ him?"

"Roran, I…"

"This is what I wanted to leave behind every time I considered fleeing the Highwayman's Guild! Remorseless killing! Don't you _know_ what being forced to kill innocents _does_ to someone?"

"Roran, he wasn't-"

"Shut _up_, Gunslinger," he snarled. "I hope you're sorry. What did he ever do to you?"

"You want a _list_, _assassin_?" Gunslinger snarled. "He was one of my tormentors when I was a child. He wanted Rose to become a whore. She was _fourteen_. He wanted me to let Old Town turn into a cesspit of scum." She stood up. "I'm _not_ sorry. Finally, he's dead, and I can rest easy."

"I thought the idea of apprehending criminals was that we didn't turn into mindless killers, instead rounding them up to be arrested. And yet _you…_you _suggested_ this, _Sparrow_, and you've just _killed_ someone. Is that any way for a Hero to act?"

"You don't understand me, do you?"

"No." Roran's voice was cold. "You're right. I don't understand you, _Hero_."

Her eyes flashed, and she looked up at him, trying desperately to hold in her tears. "Good. Don't _try _to, _assassin_," she spat, and, hefting Arfur's corpse over her shoulder, she proceeded over to stalk away to find some guards.

"Here's Arfur Tuesday. He tried to attack me. Have fun," Gunslinger grunted, throwing Arfur's body at the guards.

They muttered to themselves, surprised, before a guard in white, one of the castle guards, turned to her.

"Madam, Mr Quinn would like to see you."

"Who's Quinn?" Gunslinger asked, turning to face the guards.

"The Governor of Bowerstone, ma'am. Horatio Quinn. He took over from Frederick Malady after a corruption scandal. Turns out Malady was taking payouts from Arfur Tuesday and Nicky the Nickname's gang."

"I knew it," Gunslinger snarled, and then looked at the guards. "Alright then. Take me to your leader."


	8. Comfort and the Queen

Gunslinger was lead to a room and told to sit down on a plush chair. A few moments later a man entered the room. He was around fifty years old, with a plump belly and greying hair.

"Ms…Gunslinger, is it? My name is Horatio Quinn, the Governor of Bowerstone. Now, I've invited you here to talk about leadership. Recently, you offed Lucien Fairfax, who governed Albion, but, obviously, became corrupt, and had to be dealt with. And now I've been talking to some of the citizens of Albion and we've all come to the same conclusion."

Horatio gazed at the young woman in front of him.

"The council of Albion has come to a conclusion. We are unifying under one banner, under one leader. We want a monarch to rule Albion."

Gunslinger chewed her lips. Already, she could see where this was going. They wanted her to choose someone to be the King. But who would she choose?

"We want you to become Queen."

_What?_

That…that wasn't what she had been expecting! To be asked to be queen?

"Will you?"

Birdie thought for a few moments. If she was the Queen, she would be allowed to be seen as a bit more cool and regal than usual.

_You can build armour around your heart. You can stop him breaking it again. You can cry on your own. No one will see it if you tell them it didn't happen. _

"I'll do it, Mr Quinn."

"You will?" Quinn gasped. "This is excellent news! Your majesty-what is your name?"

"It's Birdie."

"Your…your name can't…can't _seriously_ be Birdie…" Quinn stuttered. "What about Dove? That's a bird, isn't it?"

"Fine. I'll be Dove."

"Queen Dove."

"Black."

"Pardon?"

"Dove Black? Black? The surname of the Archon?"

"Ah, yes, I see."

"Thank you, Mr Quinn. May I leave?"

"Yes, yes madam, you may! So the coronation will be next week, we will get you tailored for a dress, yes? One must, after all, look best for one's people, you understand?"

"I understand, Mr Quinn."

* * *

Roran leaned against the wall, sighing. That was too much. He had over reacted. Clearly, Birdie had a very good reason for killing the man. She wasn't a heartless killer, and he knew that. But it seemed his brain took offence to the spilling of blood when he didn't know the reason.

But he had still done something stupid. He'd shouted at _Birdie_, he'd called her _Sparrow_. He'd told her to shut up.

He groaned, sliding down the wall and holding his head in his hands.

_Pillock. You're a pillock. You're a man with a brain the size of a pea. You shouted at your girlfriend! No, she wasn't even your girlfriend. You just USED her. Smooth, man. Douchebaggery, stupidity and rampant libido! Sure, just unleash that on a Hero who's been hurt in the past. _

He got up, and surreptitiously felt his face. He was still wearing his mask. He went to rip it off, but stopped. Another time. When he next went to see Birdie.

He walked along the streets of Bowerstone, leaning over the bridge to stare at the water. He had no idea what to do. Then he had a bright idea.

His mother lived around here, somewhere.

* * *

"Your majesty, you should begin moving into the castle soon," Horatio Quinn urged. Gunslinger nodded stiffly.

"I want to see the captain of the guard," she ordered. Quinn nodded, and scurried off to find the captain. Gunslinger turned to the window.

If Roran was going to hurt her, the best thing she could do was keep him away from her.

"Madam?"

"You are the captain of the guard?"

"Evange Montgomery, madam. What do you want?"

"Evange, I need the guards to keep someone out of the castle for me. He's just under six feet tall, with grey eyes and auburn hair. Most likely he's wearing black, but I can assure you that he constantly wears a red mask that goes around his head. It leaves his head uncovered, and also most of his nose, but conceals some of his face. He's an athlete, so he runs fast. Please, keep him out of the castle."

Evange saluted and walked out of the door, leaving Gunslinger to cry.

* * *

"Roran! Darling, it's so nice to see you!"

Aurelia Krieger opened the door to see her son standing there looking awkward.

"Hi, mother, it's me. I…I've done something _really_ stupid, and I need your help."

"Help?" Aurelia asked, frowning. "But of course! What did you do?"

Roran's shoulders started shaking, and hot tears leaked out of his eyes. "I hurt Birdie," he sobbed. "Gunslinger. I…I hurt her so badly….I even…_shouted _at her."

Aurelia sat down. Arran walked into the room.

"Son? Why are you crying? Come here, I've got something interesting to show you."

Roran looked up.

"Or not. You don't look great, son," Arran confessed.

"I'm not," Roran sobbed, "I've just hurt the feelings of the Hero of Bowerstone."

"It's alright, son," Arran consoled.

"Roran wanted help," Aurelia chimed in. Arran nodded, smiling.

"Walk with me," he offered to Roran, who got up and followed his father.

"Roran, do you know what our surname means?"

"Krieger? No, I'm afraid I don't."

"It means warrior, protector. It was the job of the ancient warriors to stop the chaos after the Heroes' Guild was burned down. They became known as Kriegers. Unfortunately, one of the other jobs of the Kriegers was to hunt down and eliminate the remaining Heroes."

"Then, I'm…"

"Your bloodline would state that the actions you took against Birdie were acceptable. But _Roran_ says that they're wrong, right?"

"Yes."

"Then be unique. Be the first Krieger to _help_ a Hero, instead of kill them."

* * *

"Hear ye, hear ye! Albion to have a new queen!"

Roran was walking through Bowerstone when the Town Crier began flapping.

"Gunslinger to be named Queen Dove Black of Albion! The coronation is next Wednesday!"

Roran halted in his tracks.

_What?_

Birdie was going to be the queen? How was he going to get to her now? Was it possible she was in the castle currently? And would it be so easy as to simply waltz up the castle and walk in?

Roran walked up the path towards the castle. He was about to enter the gates when a guard levelled his rifle at the man.

"Halt! We're under orders to keep an auburn-haired man with a red mask out of castle, and since you fit the bill, you'd better scram," the guard warned.

"I'm sorry, what?" Roran asked.

"Anyone who looks like you ain't supposed to be around here," the second guard warned. "So skedaddle! Scram! Beat it!"

Roran turned and sprinted away, jumping onto the rooftops angrily.

She wanted to keep him out? _Him_?

There was no building so far that had kept Roran out. As far as he was concerned, Castle Fairfax would be no different.


	9. Reconciliation

The rustle of lush material reached Dove's ears and jerked her from her thoughts. She looked down to see the hem of her queen's dress being unravelled. Was it really Wednesday already?

She looked up at her reflection and sighed. Dove wore a long green dress with a black bodice and long, draping sleeves. It was a beautiful dress, and had clearly taken hours to make, but that did nothing to ease her mind. In a few hours, she was going to become the new queen of Albion. It was not something she'd ever imagined doing. It had not been her aspiration when she became a Hero to later become a queen. But clearly it was her fate.

And she was alone in it.

Roran cursed, watching the coronation from afar. He couldn't get _near_ the place, not right now. He turned, and was about to leave when he heard a collective gasp, and swivelled around again.

Dove Black of Albion stepped out of the castle, looking beautiful in a mint green dress. She was flushed with pride, and she smiled. Only Roran could see the tears pricking at her eyes. He felt terrible. The crown was lifted up, onto her head, and Quinn got her to swear an oath to protect Albion. She made the promise, and stared out over the crowd, and Roran turned and left.

Dove watched him go, her heart sinking. As soon as she was allowed, she turned and fled to her bedroom. There, the newly-crowned queen flung herself down on her bed and wept.

_I'm the queen now_, her mind told her, _I have to be strong. Get down those stairs and show them how you mingle._

* * *

Roran waited in an alley for the guard to pass, before scrambling up the walls. He grabbed a battlement and hauled himself over the edge, rolling across the floor and sneaking over the next wall to the roof. He silently padded over the tiles, trying to discern which room was the queen's. He looked in all the windows, before he finally found a room with a large double bed, the duvet cover of which was embroidered with the Albion coat of arms. She wasn't in her room yet, so there was no point in going in just yet. He settled himself down underneath a window, and waited for a light to come on in her room.

* * *

"A toast to the lovely queen of Albion! May her reign last as long as her strength!" Horatio boomed, and Dove winced.

Great. Now they were all saying she was going to die weak.

Dove swallowed her champagne, and stood up as the call came for a dance. A nobleman asked for her hand and she accepted.

"My name is Percival," he introduced. "Sir Percival Macintosh-Blakely, son of the Duke of Westcliff. You look radiant, your majesty."

"Thankyou," she muttered.

"Are you alright, your majesty? You sound…ill."

"I'm just tired, Sir Percival. I've had a long day and I'd rather go to bed."

"Go to bed? Ma'am, you're not suggesting we…"

"I didn't mean with you, man," she muttered, and dropped his hand lifelessly. "I'm off." She turned and stalked towards the stairs, leaving the poor noble looking at his hand, rather confused.

* * *

Roran saw light flickering through the window, and sat up, turning slowly around. Dove was just getting into bed, and he saw a mint-green pile on the floor.

_Yay, the queen has arrived,_ he thought drily. She suddenly stopped and went to the door, locking it, then returned to the bed and got in.

Roran stood up and fished a lockpick out of his jerkin. He began to pick the lock on the window as silently as he could. It clicked, and he slowly pushed it open, as it began to rain.

Dove sat up in her bed, and her eyes swung wildly around her room before they locked onto the man in black.

"_Roran_," she hissed. He gave her a pained, remorseful expression, before reaching up. Instantly she was alert. He could have a sword, or a gun, or…

A mask. Roran slowly pulled away at the ties that kept his mask on his face. The crimson cloth dropped into his hands and he looked up at her, almost shyly. Her mouth opened in an 'o' shape as she realised he was trusting her with one of his greatest secrets.

His identity.

She got up, and walked slowly towards him, as one might with a frightened horse. Her hand reached out to trace a long, thin scar that ran under his right eye.

"How did you get this?" she whispered.

"A bandit. He swung at me with a sword and caught me beneath the eye," he replied softly. He took a step forward, and Dove retreated slightly. The back of her legs found the bed, and she found herself pinned down Roran's slim frame.

"R-Roran…" she stammered.

"I'm sorry. I overreacted. I should have known you had a perfectly good excuse to kill him. I know you're a just person. I'm just a fool," he whispered furiously, and pressed his lips to hers.


	10. End

"Your majesty! We heard something last night, but your door was locked and we wondered if…" Evange Montgomery had burst into the royal bedchamber expecting to see the queen being held captive.

What he actually found was a man fitting the description of the one he'd been told to keep out of the castle lying in the queen's bed. They were completely naked from what he could tell, and cuddling up to each other.

"Yes, well, it's a bit late, isn't it, Evange?" Dove asked her guard captain drily. "Imagine if Roran was a _real_ assassin. I'd have been dead in seconds."

"So then," Evange stuttered, "why did you ask us to keep him out of the castle?"

"We had a lover's tiff, I'm afraid," Dove sighed, "and it got blown way out of proportion."

"So…" Evange began, and then stopped.

"Off you go," Dove said gently. The guard captain turned and walked out, followed by his guards, still looking confused, as Dove turned to Roran.

"So," Roran growled, burying his face in Dove's neck, "if you need any help with this ruling business…"

"Your help is more than welcome," she finished for him. "That, and I'm pregnant."

"Oh!" he gasped. "When…when did that…."

"I found out yesterday. Theresa told me it was a boy." She smirked. "And I've already decided on a name. Logan."

Roran pulled the queen closer.

"Fine, but if we have a daughter I get to name her," he made her promise.

"What would you call her?" Dove asked.

"Valkyrie."


End file.
